


Winter's Chill

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Series: Morristown [3]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1780, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Morristown, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: When Hamilton catches the flu, everyone at headquarters worries over him, but none more so than Eliza Schuyler and George Washington. Both do everything in their power to see him well again.





	

“But how do you know?” Peggy wheedled, sitting cross-legged on Eliza’s bed. Both girls were dressed for bed, their hair combed and braided. The fire crackled merrily, providing the girls plenty of light and warmth against the cold February night.

“I just do,” Eliza shrugged. She leaned back against her pillows, her arms clasped around her knees. A smile stretched her cheeks.

Peggy huffed in frustration at the answer. “You’ve only known him a few weeks. He’s handsome, I’ll grant you. Very handsome. And charming. But how do you know you’re in love? What if it’s just infatuation?”

Eliza felt her smile dim somewhat, but she shook her head. “I love him.”

Peggy collapsed to the side and stretched out on the bed, looking up at her sister with a suddenly mischievous smirk. “Have you kissed him?”

Eliza felt a blush creep over her cheeks.

“You have!” Peggy squealed.

“Hush,” Eliza shushed her quickly, eyes darting to the door as she sent up a silent prayer that her aunt and uncle hadn’t heard the exchange. She met her sister’s eyes once more and smiled shyly. She answered in a whisper, “Yes. I’ve kissed him.”

“What was it like?” Peggy asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Hugging her knees tighter, Eliza thought back to the stolen moment alone outside her aunt and uncle’s house. Hamilton’s nose and cheeks had been pink with cold. He’d helped her down from the sleigh, warning her to be careful on the ice lining the walkway to the house. One of his hands lingered on her waist from where he’d braced her. She’d stepped closer to him, tilting her head to the side and she looked up into his magnificent eyes.

And that had only been the first. More had followed, just as sweet, just as wonderful.  

“It was very tender. His lips were soft.” Eliza struggled to find words to describe the experience.

“Did he put his tongue in?” Peggy asked with a wrinkled nose.

“Peggy,” Eliza cried, a laugh startled out of her.

Her younger sister laughed as well. “Angelica told me John does that. It sounded gross.”

“He didn’t put his tongue in,” Eliza assured her. Though, considering it, the idea wasn’t as disturbing as it perhaps ought to have been.

“Do you think Mama and Papa will say yes?” Peggy rolled over to look up at the canopy of the bed as she asked this pivotal question.

“I don’t know,” Eliza answered honestly. Papa seemed to approve of Hamilton. He’d monopolized enough of Hamilton’s time since arriving in Morristown, in Eliza’s opinion. She’d even heard General Washington teasingly ask if Hamilton was trying to change assignments without telling him. Mama she was less sure of, but she could do nothing but wait and hope. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.” Peggy said this definitively. “I quite like Colonel Hamilton.”

Yes, Eliza thought, she quite liked him, too.

 

~*~

 

“Hamilton,” Washington growled.

The young Colonel startled badly from his stooped position over the desk, jumping to his feet with an audible gasp. The desk shook slightly, the low burning candle teetering once in its holder and casting shadows around the empty work room. “Yes, your Excellency,” he answered, snapping off a salute.

“I need the papers.”  The General spoke with an impatience that implied Hamilton should have known what he wanted. When he was met with a blank expression he huffed further, “The documents from Congress that came yesterday.” Hamilton whipped back around to the scattered papers on the desk, shuffling stacks to and fro before laying hand on the thick envelope he needed.

“Here, your Excellency.”

Washington took the envelope, but let his eyes linger over the mess of papers littering the desk with notable displeasure in his expression. “Clean this up, Hamilton. I shouldn’t be kept waiting for you to find important documents.”

Hamilton’s eyes landed on the desk as well, confusion painted on his features. Had Washington been less exhausted, less frustrated with all of his officers, he would have understood the expression better. Hamilton’s desk was ordered chaos covered with heaps and stacks of important correspondence and drafted replies. Most days, the commander had no doubt that the system made perfect sense to his aid. As it was, his ill-temper left no room for him to be reasonable. He bit out, “Did you hear me, Colonel? I want this mess in order next time I come into this room.”

Bright eyes met his and Hamilton nodded. “Of course, sir. My apologies.”

“Good.” He stalked out again, stomping back to his private room with the list of demands and excuses from Congress.

As he settled at his desk, he heard the grandfather clock downstairs striking twelve. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. The house was quiet, everyone abed. Even his darling Martha was asleep in the adjourning room. He ached to join her, to crawl into the warm blankets and wrap his arms around her soft form. In the silence, he could hear the soft sound of shuffling papers coming from down the hall. Groaning quietly, he felt a familiar guilt creeping over him. Why was he always losing his temper with that boy? Hamilton never did anything to deserve it.

He pushed away from the desk and stood. He’d apologize and send the boy to bed, where he should have been hours ago. Quietly making his way down the hall, he paused in the open doorway to observe Hamilton. He was frantically rearranging stacks, his fingers dancing over sheets as though reading the documents with his fingertips. As he pushed one stack aside, another moved, upsetting the open bottle of ink which splashed over the paper Hamilton had been working on when Washington had interrupted him minutes before. Hamilton let out a whimper and sank onto his chair. His shoulders slumped and his hands carded through his hair in a rare show of frustration. Washington could feel the exhaustion emanating from the usually sunny young man.

“Son,” he called softly.

Hamilton leaped from the chair once more, spinning around to face him with wide eyes, obviously fearing another reprimand for not having finished his appointed task quickly enough. “Your Excellency,” he greeted breathlessly.

Washington held up a hand as if he were trying to sooth a jumpy horse. “Son, why don’t you go to bed? I didn’t realize how late it was. You can deal with this in the morning.”

Hamilton shook his head obstinately. “I can finish it, sir. I’ll clear up the mess and…finish the letter....” He trailed off, looking forlornly at the ruined draft on the desk.

“You need rest, my boy,” Washington urged. Looking at him carefully, he realized how painfully true the statement was. Hamilton’s face was white in the dying candle light, and his eyes were shadowed and bruised from exhaustion. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

“You’re not going to bed,” Hamilton replied.

Washington sighed as he considered his response. He could make it an order, send the boy off with another reprimand for disobedience. Or…his thoughts turned to his wife, sleeping in the room just down the hall. He gave in gladly. “I am, in fact.”

“What?” Hamilton asked, visibly shocked.

“I am going to bed. We both need to sleep. Our work will be better for it.”

Hamilton looked skeptical, then seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped again and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“Good lad,” he praised softly.

Hamilton blew out the candle and brushed passed him. He heard his soft footsteps retreating down the hall towards the room where all the aids were bunking. Washington turned back to his office, blew out his own candle, and made his way to bed.

 

~*~

 

“Hamilton!”

 Washington growled with frustration as he pushed back from his desk and stood. Where in the world was the boy? His hollering usually produced a more rapid response. He poked his head around the door and called again, “Colonel Hamilton!”

At last, shuffling footsteps preceded the sight of Hamilton emerging from the aids quarters, bleary eyed. “My apologies, your Excellency,” he said hoarsely as he passed through the doorway. “I’m a bit slow moving this morning.”

Washington bit down the harsh comment that came to mind. Hamilton looked pale and exhausted. If he needed an extra minute, Washington wouldn’t begrudge him it.

“We’re getting far too low on supplies, according to this new report,” Washington began, holding up the letter delivered this morning. “We may need to start going door to door again if Congress doesn’t send funds or supplies soon.”

Hamilton nodded distractedly.

Washington stared at him, waiting. When Hamilton added nothing, he prompted, “Colonel?”

Hamilton’s head popped up. “What, sir?”

“Funds. From Congress. I want an update,” Washington said sharply.

“I’ve had no word, sir. I…I could start assembling some men to go door to door.”

Washington frowned. The boy wasn’t tracking the conversation. Something was wrong. He reached forward, laying the back of his hand against Hamilton’s forehead. Hamilton jerked away violently, but not soon enough to keep Washington from feeling the fever baking beneath his skin.

“You’re ill, son.”

Hamilton didn’t bother denying it. “I can work, sir.”

“You can barely focus. Go lie down,” Washington ordered.

“I…” His voice trailed off. He pitched forward suddenly. Without thought, Washington sprang over and caught Hamilton before he hit the ground, supporting all of his weight, his head lolling against Washington’s shoulder.

“McHenry!” Washington shouted.

The doctor turned military aid entered a moment later, pausing in the doorway with wide eyes at the sight.

“Help,” Washington ordered, his arms still full of his youngest aid.

“Oh, Ham,” McHenry whispered, stepping forward and easing the young man away from the General. Washington let him go reluctantly.

“He’s feverish. He wasn’t able to follow a conversation,” he reported.

McHenry shook his head. “I’m not surprised. He barely slept last night. With all that retching, I’m amazed he dragged himself out of bed this morning.”

“Take care of him,” Washington said softly.

“Aye, sir,” McHenry agreed.

 

~*~

 

“I do wish this cold would yield,” Mrs. Washington remarked. Eliza nodded her agreement as she picked her way along the path back to General Washington’s headquarters. Their breath came out in great puffs, and Eliza’s warmest petticoat, cloak and mittens were doing little to keep away the bite of the cold air. Both women carried empty pots that had been filled with stew for the injured soldiers in the hospital. Eliza had been elated at the invitation from the great Lady Washington to come help.

 “Do watch that icy patch, my dear,” Mrs. Washington added as they turned to the walkway. “I really must get one of the servants to see to clearing this better.”

Eliza had just opened her mouth the assure her that she would be fine when she felt her foot go out from under her. She fell back into the snow bank, her skirt flying up and the pot clattering loudly onto the icy ground. She clenched her eyes shut in embarrassment as she laid in the snow. She’d selected daintier footwear than normal for this outing, wanting to impress Mrs. Washington. Now she desperately wished she laced up her old boots instead.

“Oh, my, are you all right? Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Washington exclaimed, hurrying to her side. “No, don’t move too quickly. You might have an injury.”

“Mrs. Washington? Miss Schuyler? Is everything all right?” Tench Tilghman’s voice came from the house. Within a moment he too was standing over Eliza.

“I’m fine,” Eliza assured the two hovering figures. “Just a spill. Nothing hurt.”

“Allow me to assist you inside, Miss,” Tilghman said, already hoisting her up by the elbow.

“Really, I’m…” Eliza began to protest.

“No, you must come inside and get warm, my dear,” Mrs. Washington insisted.

She was rushed into the house and directed into the bustling parlor where several of Washington’s aides were hard at work. Richard Meade jumped out of a seat near the fire, and Tilghman deposited her there, kneeling before her.

“Do you have any pain, Miss Schuyler?” Tilghman asked, looking up at her with big, dark, concerned eyes.

Eliza smiled and shook her head.

“Give the poor girl some space to breathe, Colonel,” Mrs. Washington admonished, shooing Tilghman away from her. “If anyone is to be flitting about her so, it should be her intended.”

Tilghman backed away looking slightly put out.

“Where is that young rake of yours?” Mrs. Washington wondered, looking about the room. “Or Major McHenry for that matter? He could check you over properly.” 

Meade stepped over to Mrs. Washington, leaning close to whisper something. Mrs. Washington’s face paled slightly, and Meade shot Eliza a sympathetic look. Eliza felt a cold weight form in her stomach.

Mrs. Washington was shaking her head. “I told the General just last night that the boy was looking pale. The poor dear works too hard.”

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked fearfully.

Mrs. Washington took a seat beside her. “It seems Colonel Hamilton has taken to bed with a fever. The good doctor is with him now. I’m sure he’ll be just fine with some rest.”

Eliza felt like someone had just doused her with ice water. “A fever?” she repeated. A fever could be deadly in these conditions. The harsh cold and poor provisions had been dogging the hospital’s sick and wounded for months.

“Our Hamilton is a strong lad,” Meade assured her. “He’ll be up and out of that bed before you know it. Don’t you worry, miss.”

“Yes, that’s right. You just get warm by the fire, dear.” Mrs. Washington insisted, patting her hand comfortingly.

Eliza obeyed, but her eyes kept flickering towards the ceiling, wondering if Hamilton were all right. If only she could see him—but of course, that wouldn’t be proper. Even asking would likely cause Mrs. Washington to write her father a strongly worded letter. She’d simply have to wait for him to be well again.

 

~*~

 

“How is he?” Washington asked, standing in the doorway to the aids’ quarters.

McHenry looked up from the man on the half stuffed pallet on the floor to meet Washington’s eyes. He shook his head a little. “The fever’s climbing, sir. He can’t hold fluids. I’m beginning to worry.”

“Would he do better in a warmer room? Somewhere more comfortable?” Washington suggested, fear pulling at him suddenly.

McHenry shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt, I can say that for certain.”

“We’ll bring him to my room,” Washington decided. The room had a large, warm bed and a roaring fire.

McHenry looked taken aback a moment, but nodded swiftly. Washington stooped down and gathered the unconscious man into his arms. Hamilton, small and slender even in the best of health, made a remarkably light burden. He carried him like a child, one arm hooked under his knees and the other around his shoulders. McHenry followed him into the master bedroom, where Washington set Hamilton on the bed.

Martha had been sitting by the window reading a letter when they entered. She jumped from her chair and hurried over to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s happened? Is he worse?”

“About the same, really,” McHenry answered.

“I thought he might fare better somewhere warmer,” Washington explained.

Martha smiled at him. “Quite right. Keep him warm and comfortable. That’s the key,” she said, running her hand over the boy’s forehead.

 “I’m sure there’s a way to rearrange sleeping orders to ensure your comfort, my dear,” he said to her uncertainly.

“Oh, it’s no matter. We’ll manage,” she assured him. “Dear Hamilton’s health is what is important at the moment.” What had he done to deserve so perfect a wife, he wondered.  

Hamilton tossed on the bed and muttered something.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Martha asked, leaning closer to him.

“Bet…” Washington made out. He looked at Martha, who leaned even further over before smiling slightly.

“Betsey,” Martha clarified for him. “He’s asking for Betsey.”

Washington felt a smile tugging at his lips. The boy really was in love, it seemed. “Perhaps we could have Doctor Cochran come take a look at Colonel Hamilton tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure Doctor Cochran can do more than we’re doing all ready,” McHenry said.

“No, I quite insist. The doctor should come take a look.”

“And he should bring that young niece of his along, to raise our dear Colonel’s spirits, don’t you think, Major?” Martha added, sending McHenry a significant look.

A look of understanding passed over the aid’s features, and he smirked down at Hamilton as well. “Yes. You know, I believe you’re both correct. A visit from Doctor Cochran is just what he needs.”

 

~*~

 

Eliza hadn’t seen or heard from Hamilton for days. The worry killed her appetite and stole her focus. She’d given up on the mittens she’d been knitting in favor of staring at the fire for over an hour. Aunt Gertrude had tried to comfort her earlier, but the only comfort Eliza would accept was a letter from her beloved Hamilton.

“Eliza, my dear,” Uncle John said, startling her from her fire gazing. He came to sit beside her, holding a letter in his hand. Hope sprang up inside her, before being crushed by the expression on her Uncle’s face. “I’ve just received a letter from General Washington. He’s asking me to come look in on that young man of yours.”

They were summoning Uncle John? Eliza felt like crying. Hamilton couldn’t die. Not now. She’d had so little time with him.

“I thought perhaps you might accompany me? A visit from a pretty young girl is sure to raise any man’s spirits.”

Eliza nodded. She jumped internally, grateful at the opportunity to visit her Hamilton while he was unwell.

“Good lass,” her uncle praised. “Get ready quickly. I need to be away as soon as possible.”

Eliza hurried to put on her cloak and mittens. Normally, she’d put on a finer dress and worry more over her hair when she was going to headquarters, but under the circumstances she found she cared little about her appearance. She was waiting by the door when Uncle John came downstairs with his black bag. He smiled weakly at her and nodded for her to precede him out to the sleigh.

The ride to headquarters passed in a blur. Eliza wrung her hands as she looked at the passing scenery. When they arrived, Uncle John helped her down from the sleigh and told her softly, “I think you ought to wait downstairs while I look him over. I’ll send for you when I’m finished.”

She agreed. She followed him into the house and turned into the parlor while he went upstairs. Tilghman was seated by the fire, quill in hand, when she entered.

“Miss Schuyler,” he said, jumping from his seat to greet her.

“Colonel,” she nodded, her voice slightly hoarse.

Tilghman gestured to a seat, which she took. “I suppose you’re here for Hammy?” She nodded. “He’ll be all right. Just a chill. Nothing to make you look so forlorn.”

“General Washington sent for Doctor Cochran,” Eliza said. If the unflappable commander was worried enough to call for her uncle, she was sure Hamilton was suffering from more than a minor chill.

Tilghman nodded slowly. Seeming at a loss for something to say, he repeated, “He’ll be all right.”

“I pray you are correct,” Eliza replied.

Tilghman returned to his correspondence after that and silence fell upon the parlor. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked the passing seconds, sounding loud in the quiet of the house. Eliza closed her eyes and folded her hands in prayer while she waited.

“Miss Schuyler?”

Eliza looked up to see McHenry in the doorway. The young doctor looked exhausted, but he managed a smile for her. “Doctor Cochran asked me to come fetch you. If you’d follow me?”

She sprang to her feet and followed the major up the stairs. He led her down a hall and paused at the last door on the left. The door was open, and he beckoned her inside.

General Washington and Uncle John were both standing at the bedside. Her eyes went immediately to the figure in the bed. Hamilton’s face was flushed, his eyes bruised, his hair askew. She stepped closer and reflexively took his hand.

His eyes opened with some effort, and he turned his head a little to look at her. His lip quirked up slightly when he recognized her. She squeezed his hand.

“Perhaps we should give them a moment together,” General Washington suggested.

Eliza looked up in surprise and noticed Uncle John hesitating. Although she and Hamilton were essentially engaged, pending her parents’ approval, leaving them in a bedroom without a chaperone was somewhat scandalous. General Washington gave her a closed lip smile and added, “I hardly think Colonel Hamilton is capable of anything untoward in his condition. Don’t you agree, doctor?”

Uncle John fixed her with a warning look, then nodded. “Yes, I believe you are correct, your Excellency.”

“I have some rather excellent brandy in my office, if you’d care to join me,” Washington offered, already moving towards the door.

Uncle John’s face brightened at the suggestion. Washington closed the door with a gentle tap. A moment of silence followed. When the footsteps had disappeared down the long hallway, Hamilton said in wretchedly hoarse voice, “Would you care to do something untoward?”

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of her. She clasped her free hand over her mouth to quiet herself and looked down at him with teary eyes. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat before answering. “I’m all right.”

She rolled her eyes. Keeping his hand in hers, she sat carefully on the bed. The side table caught her eye, and she noticed it was dotted with some of Mrs. Washington’s belongings. She looked around and asked, “Is this General Washington’s room?”

Hamilton hummed in the affirmative, eyes scanning the room as well, as though he hadn’t noticed his location before.

Eliza stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. “How are you feeling? Honestly,” she added, hoping to cut off another empty assurance.

He shrugged weakly and closed his eyes again. That was the closest to an honest answer she was likely to get. She squeezed his hand and asked, “Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?”

He smiled again. She slapped at his arm with all the force of a newborn kitten. “Anything that won’t make my uncle feel compelled to duel you if he were to walk in on us?” she amended.

“A kiss?” he requested.

That didn’t quite meet the criteria, but she complied anyway. She leaned down and placed her lips on his, pecking him lightly.

He looked up at her dreamily as she pulled away. His smile turned a little goofy. His speech was a little slurred. “I’m going to marry you.”

“I think you’re still delirious,” she countered.

“I’m going to marry you,” he insisted. “You make everything better.”

Eliza felt a blush creep over her cheeks. At a loss for words, she simply caressed his clammy cheek and whispered, “Rest.”

His breathing evened. A deafening snore followed soon after, and Eliza winced. Dear Lord, did he always snore like that? She sighed, prayed he was a quiet sleeper in good health, and assured herself it was better to know the warts going in to a marriage.

Another snore followed, and Eliza leaned forward to kiss his forehead. It didn’t really matter what her parents said, she realized, standing over the bed and watching him sleep. She whispered softly, “Yes, sweetheart. You’re going to marry me.”

 

~*~

 

“Major McHenry tells me Colonel Hamilton’s fever has broken,” Martha commented as Washington readied for bed. The room was smaller than the master bedroom, but it held only the two of them and was more than adequate for one night. She was already in bed, squinting at a letter from her niece in the dim candlelight as she spoke.

Washington knew this already. He’d been hovering around the sickroom like a nervous father for the past several days. He doubted the boy had so much as sneezed without him knowing about it. “Yes, I heard. Greatly relieving news, to be sure.”

“The visit from Miss Schuyler did much to raise his spirits, I think. It was kind of you to arrange it.”

Washington waived the compliment away. “It was a small thing to arrange. Well worth it to see him happy.”

He finished pulling on his nightshirt and turned back to the bed. Martha smiled adoringly at him, her warm eyes crinkled with mirth. He frowned in confusion at her expression. He hadn’t done anything endearing that he could think of, to make her smile so.

“You are a good man, George Washington,” she said firmly.

He felt more confused than ever, but he thanked her softly.

The smile was still on her face when she added, “And an excellent father.” With that, she blew out the candle and settled in for sleep.

Washington stood still in the dark for a long moment. He didn’t think she was referring to his abilities with his step-children. He thought of the boy sleeping in the master bedroom. All of the young men in his service were children to him in a way; some, like his dear Lafayette, especially so. But Hamilton, that maddening boy who worked himself to exhaustion seeking approval and bucked whenever Washington tried to give it, he was special. Washington would see that boy through this war if it killed him. Lately, when his spirits lagged, and he despaired of ever winning this war, he found himself thinking of the boy and that sweet girl who loved him so much. He would picture their home, filled with love and children, and his faith in their cause would be renewed.  

He slid into bed beside Martha with a contented sigh. With his darling wife warm beside him and his worries eased at last, sleep claimed him quickly. Everything was as it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments always appreciated!


End file.
